C'est La Vie
by Ziva- Zia- Z
Summary: She had begged her father to let her spend a year abroad; instead of America, she chose Ireland. Whatever she was expecting in regards to her host family ended up being furthest from the truth. & whatever they were expecting of their exchange student, would surprise them, & end up changing all their lives, for the better. Or as Penny always told them, C'est la vie. AU McGiva.
1. Chapter 1

**C'est La Vie **

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Summary: She had begged her father to let her spend a year abroad; instead of going to America, she chose Ireland. Whatever she was expecting in regards to her host family ended up being the furthest from the truth. And whatever they were expecting of their exchange student, would surprise them, and end up changing all their lives, for the better. Or as Penny always told them, _C'est la vie_. AU McGiva.**

**A/N: Written: 2007. Found: 2018.**

** _C'est la vie_ is French for 'That's life' or 'that's how things happen'. So, two things regarding this story- yes, it's _another_ one of those Pre-NCIS stories, that she wrote way back in 2007, so Ziva was just starting to become established on the show. If you've noticed, Zanie_ really_, _really_ liked to play with pre-NCIS _What If?_ scenarios (_Until You Are Home Again_ comes to my mind first), especially for her earlier works, and this seems to follow a tweaked version of the age timeline that _Until You Are Home Again_ follows. **

**And second, this story is actually based in part around the music of that 1990s girl group B*Witched (anyone of our age group remember them?). From what I can tell and what I've read of her notes (because even back then, she kept detailed notes on _every. single. written. story_), she was pulling inspiration from the music she was listening too in regards to her writing. So, her writing, in part, is influenced by what she listened(s) to. So, just a recommendation, I suggest listening to at least the title's song while reading this, and maybe you'll get a glimpse into Zanie's writing process. And without further hesitation, I give you _C'est La Vie_. **

**\- Licia **

_"Say you will, say you won't_  
_Say you'll do what I don't_  
_Say you're true, say to me, "C'est la vie"_

_\- C'est La Vie, _

_B*Witched, _

_B*Witched album, 1998_

_Belfast International Airport,_

_Belfast, _

_Northern Ireland,_

_1997_

"_'Some people say I look like me dad._'"

He rolled his eyes, looking up from his book. She sat beside him, headphones in and walk man on her lap, singing along softly to the bubblegum pop song coming out of her headphones. She nodded her head in time with the beat of the song, either oblivious to or ignoring the glances she was getting from others waiting for new arrivals. Her long red hair was pulled back in two tight French braids down either side of her head, and occasionally, she'd either snap her gum or blow a bubble.

_"D' ye 'ave t'_ sing along?"

She turned to him, pulling one of the phones off her ears. "Hmm? _Ye_ say _somethin',_ Timmy?"

The Irish pop band's first song from their just-dropped album bled through the phones, infiltrating his senses, and he wrinkled his nose. "_I canna b'lieve ye still lis'en t'-"_ She took that moment to blow a giant pink bubble, and he took the opportunity to reach over and slam his palm into the sticky substance, causing it to stick to her nose and cheeks. "bubblegum pop. Ye're nearly _fifteen_, Sarah."

"I _am_ fifteen, Timmy." She replied after having pulled the sticky sugar snack from her cheeks and nose and popping it back in her mouth. "I don't ask _ye_ why _ye still lis'en t' u2, an' ye're_ nearly seventeen."

_"Tha's b'cause u2 is classic_." He responded, turning his nose up in response. She rolled her eyes.

"_There's 'er fligh'._"

_"B'sides, me_ taste in _mus'c's a thousan' times b'tter than yers._"

_"Is no'! Jus' cause-"_

_"Tha's enough, both o' ye! Now g't ov'r 'ere. She'll b' steppin' off th'_ plane soon an' I will_ no' 'ave ye bick'ring_ in _fron' o_' our_ gues' _like a couple_ o' 'ens." _

The two teenagers hurried to join their parents, scanning the faces of the passengers disembarking from the flight. "_'ow_ will we know _wha'_ she looks like,_ Mams_?" Sarah asked, headphones hanging round her neck, music paused.

"Easy, Sarah. She's a Jew."

_"Timothy James Patrick McGee!" _

The boy jumped as his sister smacked his arm, and his mother's voice rose several octaves. His father, the quieter one of his parents, just shook his head. He knew better than to step into the ensuing chaos; he would have a stern, firm talk with his son later, after the girl had joined them and they'd gone home, after dinner, before bed.

_"Look! Is tha' 'er?"_ Sarah asked, and both her brother and mother turned in time to watch a young girl, not much older than Timothy, exit the terminal, pulling a small rolling suitcase behind her. A backpack was slung over her shoulder, and she wore a pair of jeans so worn the holes in the knees were patched over with colorful swatches of cloth. She had a light blue zip-up sweater on over a white tank top, and her hair was a chaotic mess of brown, wavy curls. She stopped, looking around, searching for someone. After a moment, their mother stepped forward.

"Excuse me." The girl turned to her. "Are ye... Ziva David?"

The girl watched her for a moment, brow furrowing.

"I _don'_ think she _und'rstands_ English." Sarah whispered, leaning towards her brother, who nodded, though he never took his eyes off the girl. She was the most fascinating creature he'd ever seen. The girl turned, catching his gaze, and after a moment, he broke it, blushing slightly in embarrassment that she'd caught him staring.

"_Ye're th'_ girl _tha's par' o' th'_ exchange program?" Kathleen asked, and after a moment, the girl nodded. "Ziva David, _aye?_"

Silence filled the awkwardness, before she finally spoke, exhausted brain having finally gotten up to speed. "_Dah_-vid." She put emphasis on the 'a' of her last name. "Ziva _Da_vid." She awkwardly held out a hand, and Kathleen smiled softly at her, taking her hand gently and shaking.

"It's nice_ t'_ meet_ ye._ I'm Kathleen McGee. _Tis me 'usband_, John, _an' me chil'ren,_ Timothy _an'_ Sarah."

John quickly shook her head, and the two teens- who looked to be not much older than her or around her age- waved awkwardly at her. As they left the airport, headed for the parking lot, Kathleen asked how her flight had gone, if she was hungry, if she was excited about starting the school year in a new country, where exactly in Israel she was from... the questions were quick and Ziva's soft answers quicker. As the three teens slid into the back of the car- Sarah on one side and Timothy on the other with their new guest in the middle, the boy finally spoke.

"Ziva _Dah_-vid?" She nodded. "Interesting name."

The car pulled out of the parking lot, and Sarah put her headphones back on before starting her music again. The other girl's gaze locked on his briefly, and she blushed, but she wasn't sure why. In the rear view mirror, Kathleen watched, feeling a small smile tug at her lips. "You can just call me Ziva."


	2. Chapter 2

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: Written: 2007. Found: 2018. ****\- Licia **

"So this is _yer_ room, Ziva. Bathroom's _jus'_ down_ th' 'all._ If_ ye_ need _anythin', don' 'esitate t' le'_ John or I know, or one _o' th'_ kids."

She let her gaze wander around the room; it was quaint, like something straight out of one of her _Ima's_ Victorian novels. There was a dark green comforter on the bed with a white, blue and green blanket over it with Celtic knot appliqué. It was a very pretty little room, with a small closet, dresser and desk not far from the bed. Blue and green curtains hung from the window, which looked out on the backyard. In fact, the whole house the McGees lived in was quaint.

_It is like something out of Snow White. A fairy tale cottage, in the heart of the city. _

The grey stone cottage with the brick roof was two stories, with a spacious backyard and a good-sized living area and kitchen. There was a small family area at the landing of the stairs that preceded the four bedrooms and bathroom. Despite the size- it looked small on the outside- the house was bigger than she first thought, and fairly modern. But what threw her when they first pulled up was the door.

It was a brilliant, bright yellow, reminiscent of summer sunshine.

She'd stared at it for a good five minutes before Timothy, the McGee's oldest and only son, gently nudged her in the back and she turned, meeting his gaze. "_I'_ jars _mos'_ people, when they_ firs'_ see_ i'. Ye ge' us'd t'_ it."

And then he'd moved past her. It had been the first full sentence the boy had said to her since meeting her at the airport, and despite the thickness of his accent, she'd understood nearly every word. It seemed like the only language barrier of being in this country would be the accent- and maybe a few words.

After a moment, she turned back to the older woman, smiling softly at her. "Thank you."

Kathleen beamed at her, and Ziva felt a twinge of sadness. Even though they'd only known each other for under a couple hours, Ziva could see that Kathleen McGee was almost a mirror image of her own mother. The fact that she had found her mother's counterpart all the way in Ireland, not two weeks after Rivka _Da_vid had been killed in a bombing in Amman, tugged at her heart, and didn't go unnoticed by the girl. A moment passed, before Kathleen nodded and slipped out of the room, heading downstairs.

Once alone, Ziva turned back to her room, setting her suitcase and backpack on the bed. She quickly unzipped both, moving to unpack, when voices tugged her attention to the slightly opened window. Gently parting the curtains, she found herself the private audience of Mr. and Mrs. McGee's kids; the two were kicking a football back and forth. After several minutes, she dropped the curtain, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. She was suddenly exhausted, the two day, ten hour flight finally catching up with her.

Setting her suitcase and backpack on the floor, she removed her sneakers and stretched out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. A sigh escaped her throat, and she closed her eyes._ Just a few minutes, and then I will go downstairs._ But instead of a few minutes, she nodded off, the jet-lag from the trip and the softness of the mattress lulling her to sleep.

With Ziva still upstairs, Kathleen looked up from fixing a cup of coffee as her children came into the kitchen from the backyard. Timothy set the football down by the door and slipped out of his shoes, leaving them by his sister's by the back door as Sarah removed the headphones from her ears, draping them around her neck. She'd kept tight hold on the walk-man while they were out in the backyard, one headphone over one ear, the other off, so she could still listen to her music as she kicked the football around with her brother. At this age, Sarah's walk-man- a Christmas gift from Meave, her mother's older sister who was a professor at MIT in the States- was her most prized possession, and she took it everywhere, often getting it taken away during class because she kept it on her desk instead of in her locker. "Where's _th'_ new girl?" The boy asked, snagging an apple from the bowl on the table and taking a bite.

"_Ziva_ is upstairs, _unpackin'._" Kathleen replied, the look on her face making her son swallow his bite thickly. "I_ wan' ye both t'_ make_ 'er_ feel welcome_. 'twill_ be_ 'er 'ome f'r th' nex'_ year, which means we will _all 'ave t'_ make sure she feels at _'ome 'ere_. Is _tha'_ clear?" Both kids nodded, sharing a glance as they took seats at the table. "_Tha'_ means no_ treat'n 'er_ like she's a_ foreign'r-_"

"_Bu'_ she_ is_ a _foreign'r_-" Sarah started, and Kathleen reached over, taking Sarah's walk-man and gently tapping her over the head with it. "Hey!"

"_Be_ nice. _Both o' ye."_ She glanced between her children. Before either could respond, Kathleen looked up to see the girl in question make her way down the stairs, for the stairway started at the entrance to the kitchen. "I _'ope ye're settl'd_ in, Ziva." The girl nodded silently as the other two teenagers turned from their seats to stare at her. She suddenly found herself the object of three pairs of bright, green Irish eyes. "Good. _Woul' ye_ like_ somethin' t' ea'?_ I _be' ye're 'ungry, an' supp'r 'twon'_ be ready_ f'r 'noth'r_ hour."

A moment passed, before the girl shrugged, giving a tiny nod, crossing her arms protectively over herself.

"_'tis_ awful_ shy_ ain't she?" The boy whispered to his sister, though it was loud enough both his mother and the young Israeli heard it. With a sigh, Kathleen took the spoon she'd been using to stir the cream into her coffee and reached over, tapping her son on the head with it. _"Wha'?_ She_ is_."

"Give_ 'er time_." Kathleen replied, before turning back to their guest. "Ziva." The girl turned dark eyes to her. "_Wha' woul' ye_ like? I _canna_ guarantee _'twill_ be_ th' bes'_-"

_"Yer cookin's_ always _bes', Mams_." Sarah interjected honestly, and Kathleen reached out, batting her daughter's nose with the same spoon she'd used on her son minutes before.

"Shh." She turned back to the other girl. "Or _kosh'r_, like I'm sure_ ye're us'd t', bu' a' leas'_ it'll be _somethin'_ in _yer_ stomach. A _san'wich_?"

After glancing quickly at the siblings, the girl turned back to Kathleen and nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: Written: 2007. Found: 2018. ****\- Licia **

_"Hurry up we're all ready _  
_And all you need to bring is yourself _  
_Gonna go slow take it steady _  
_Cause there's no room for nobody else_

_Sun is high, sky is blue _  
_It's so bright, we're just waiting for you _  
_(We know what you're doin') _  
_We know what to do_

_Give it up Mr. Blue Sky _  
_Speedin' right on into the bay _  
_Everybody wave as we drive by _  
_To the beach where we're gonna stay"_

_-Rev It Up,_

_B*Witched, _

_B*Witched Album, 1998_

With a week before school started- Ziva had arrived a week early, in order to get adjusted to being in Ireland and with her host family- the teenagers of Candlewick Lane, often fled their small corner of Belfast, in search of adventure and excitement and freedom from adult supervision for a couple hours or more. So it was two days later that Kathleen and Ziva looked up at the sound of footsteps pounding on the stairs. Timothy and Sarah bounded down the stairs, ready for some time in the sun, despite the August chill in the air.

"Where _ye_ two off_ t'_?"

The teenagers shared a glance, before Sarah spoke up, towel over her shoulder and sunglasses on. "Taryn _an'_ Aiden_ 'vited_ us_ t'_ go_ t' Por'stwart Stran' t'day._ One _m're_ day at _th'_ beach_ 'fore_ school starts."

Kathleen nodded. "Ah." She seemed to consider this for a moment, before nodding towards the teenager sitting across from her at the table. "Take Ziva_ wit' ye_."

_"Wha'?"_

_"Ye canna be seriou-"_ Timothy stopped at the same time his sister's exclamation died on her lips. The girl quickly lifted her sunglasses, green eyes widening.

"_Ye 'eard me._ Take Ziva _wit' ye." _

_"Bu' tha's-" _

_"'twould_ be a good idea_ f'r 'er t'_ meet a few_ o' 'er fellow classma'es b'fore_ school_ star's_. She'd also_ ge' ou' an'_ see a_ bi' o' th' coun'ry_ she's_ livin' in f'r th' nex'_ year." The two teens began to protest, but Kathleen continued. "_Plus, ye'd ge' t'_ know each_ oth'r. Now take 'er."_ A moment passed, before Sarah sighed, turning to the other girl.

"Did _ye_ bring _yer sui'?_" A moment passed before Ziva nodded; she hadn't known if she'd need to take gym or not, so had packed it just in case. "Okay. Go change."

A moment passed, as Ziva glanced nervously at Kathleen. The girl hadn't said much to anyone in the family except Kathleen for the past two days. Clearly, she felt more comfortable around adults versus people her own age, something that caused a noticeable gap between her and the McGee siblings, who were unsure of how to approach her. She seemed to act more like an adult than a teenager their age, and so the siblings had left her alone for the last two days, figuring she needed time to adjust to the changes of being in Ireland and recover from the very obvious jet-lag that had shown itself that first day.

Both teens turned as a car horn sounded outside the house, and Sarah made her way to the door, pulling it open. She waved quickly to the occupants. _"We'll b' there in a min'te!"_ She turned back to the Israeli. _"Well? Ye comin' or no'?"_ After a moment, the other girl got up, vanishing upstairs. Timothy shook his head, making his way to his mother. He kissed her quickly on the cheek.

"We'll_ b'_ back _b'fore supp'r, Mams_." Then, he turned, passing by his sister and heading down the steps to the car. Sarah watched as Taryn, threw open the passenger door and climbed out, hurrying to give him a hug. When she turned back, Ziva had come back downstairs, in a pair of denim shorts and a white top, her hair down in waves. She carried a small bag, and wore a pair of sandals.

"Ready?" The girl nodded, and after kissing Kathleen on the cheek, Sarah led the girl from the house. The trio piled into the backseat of the car, similar to the ride home from the airport.

"_'ho's th'_ new girl?" Aiden asked from the driver's side as they pulled away from the curb and started the hour and fifteen minute drive to the Strand.

"Ziva-" Tim started, but Taryn turned back in the passenger seat to see her better.

"Is she_ th' 'xchange stud'nt_?" Ziva nodded quickly, meeting the other girl's gaze. Taryn's short, red A-line bob just brushed slightly past her chin, and she tossed her head, sending the fringe of bangs that created the bar between the slopes of the 'A' soaring briefly before they settled against her forehead again. "Nice_ t'_ meet _ye._" She held out a hand, a chunky blue lucite ring on her finger. There was a black tattoo choker around her neck, and a pair of smiley face earrings in her ears. A moment passed, before Ziva slowly reached out, taking the girl's hand. Once the awkward handshake was exchanged, Taryn turned back to the front, and silence settled once more in the car.

"... so... where are _ye_ from, Ziva?" Aiden asked, glancing at her in the rear view. The girl looked up from studying her nails nervously, surprised the other boy had even spoken to her. She bit her lip, swallowing.

"Israel." She whispered, and Timothy started, turning to her.

"The lass speaks." He joked, and she turned to him, blushing before ducking her head. The remaining drive was filled with Aiden slowly pulling her out of her shell, asking question after question, so that by the time they reached the beach and got out of the car, Ziva had no choice but to talk, because he wouldn't allow her to remain silent. Once they'd picked their place and settled on the shore, the others dashed towards the water, but she held back. Timothy glanced at her, smirking. _"Ye're no' goin' in_ like_ tha' are ye?"_ He tossed his shirt into his bag and slipped out of his sandals. She didn't reply, not verbally, anyway.

When he looked up next, it was to Ziva folding the shirt she'd worn and setting it into her bag with her shorts. She wore a dark blue halter two piece, her long dark hair blowing in the breeze; a gold Star of David hung around her neck, and glinted in the August sun. After slipping out of her sandals, she looked up, meeting his gaze, brow furrowed in confusion. His green eyes were wide and his mouth hung open at the sight of the mousy exchange student- who'd hidden out in her room for the past two days, only coming out for meals or when he and Sarah were either in their own rooms, outside or off running errands- in a solid colored two piece that screamed_ Sexy!_ at the top of its lungs. A moment passed, as she reached up, nervously scratching the back of her neck,

"What?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: Written: 2007. Found: 2018. ****\- Licia **

It took a moment, before he was able to gather his wits about him, clear his head, and form a coherent sentence beyond, "Guh... hmuh...", but eventually, his brain was able to return to normal. He quickly shook his head before finally speaking.

"N... _nothin'. Ye jus'_... look... like..."

She raised an eyebrow, waiting. "_Like_?"

He shrugged, trying his hardest to act nonchalant. "Like a girl."

Her features fell slightly. "I am a girl."

"Oh." He blushed, shaking himself. "R... _righ'_. I... _f'rgo'_." And without another word, he moved past her, joining the others. She watched him go, biting her lip nervously, before taking a seat on the blanket they'd brought and laid out. She pulled her knees to her chest, watching as the four chased each other through the water, laughing and enjoying the afternoon. For the briefest of moments, she felt as though she were back in Tel Aviv, at the beach with her brother and sister. But then the feeling faded, and she remembered that she was in Ireland.

"_'ave ye_ moved _a' all_?"

She looked up, shading her eyes to find Taryn standing over her, dripping wet from being dunked in the water by Aiden. She thought a moment, before shaking her head, before her gaze traveled back to the other three. Timothy had lifted Sarah off her feet and was tossing her into the water; the girl let out a screech as she hit the water, and her brother and Aiden laughed. Sighing, Taryn reached out, taking her hand and tugging her to her feet. _"C'mon._ We _don'_ bite."

Though she resisted at first, eventually, she allowed the other girl to tug her down towards the water. Once at the water's edge, Taryn let her go, and rushed to join the others._ "C'mon in! 'tis a littl' col', bu' ye ge' us'd t' it!"_ Aiden called.

Sarah tossed her head, sending water everywhere. Timothy watched her, silent, green eyes quickly dancing over her figure before returning to her face. He blushed, before taking a deep breath and ducking under the water. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly self-conscious. While Aiden would let his gaze settle on her occasionally, Timothy let his gaze wander, drinking her in, as though she were a famous painting hanging in the Louvre and he was trying to memorize every detail. Instead of making her feel uncomfortable, it set her stomach fluttering.

_"C'mon in, Ziva!"_ Taryn called, splashing Aiden when he splashed both her and Sarah. When she looked up, it was to Timothy standing beside her, lower lip between his teeth.

"_C'mon._" He held out a hand, and after glancing at it, she laid her hand in his. Despite his skin being covered in ocean water, his palm was warm, his fingers secure as they wrapped gently around hers. She met his gaze, and he smiled nervously at her, which she returned. And then, in one swift motion, he tugged her to him, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her up.

_"Hey!"_ She attempted to pull away, but he tightened his grip.

"_Ye're s'posed t' 'ave fun."_ He replied, carrying her into the water and then tossing her a couple feet away. She landed with a splash and a shriek amid laughter that echoed in her ears as she came up sputtering, and for the briefest of moments, both her temper and tears began to flare, before she realized they weren't laughing at her, they were laughing at the fact that Timothy had completely surprised her and managed to get her- even unwillingly- into the water. Shaking the water from her head, she made her way towards him.

"You are so dead!"

Her impromptu bath seemed to have loosened her up enough that she could enjoy herself, because she proceeded to chase after him, finally getting close enough to reach out for him, only to lose her footing and stumble into him. The pair toppled backwards into the water, several feet from the others.

On instinct, he opened his eyes. Having spent his childhood summers at the beach, he was used to being underwater with his eyes open, for he often spent those summers sneaking up on Sarah when they were younger. He was surprised, however, to find her watching him. A moment passed, as his gaze darted to her mouth, before he shook himself. They broke the surface, her arms still around his neck; he wrapped an arm around he waist to keep a hold on her, and she gulped in air, squeezing her eyes shut to clear the water away.

Their gazes locked; he leaned down, brushing his lips softly against hers for the briefest of seconds before finally pulling away. She let her gaze wander to his eyes, the fluttering in her stomach doubling tenfold. Though it had only been a brief kiss, it was still a kiss. And the last time she'd been kissed, it had been by Schmeil Rubinstein, who'd kissed her during a game of Spin the Bottle at her friend Deena's tenth birthday party; he'd missed her lips and kissed her chin instead. But this light, little kiss...

She swallowed, wanting to feel his mouth on hers again, even if it was another light, brief kiss. Their gazes locked again, and taking a deep breath, she leaned close; he closed the gap between them. This kiss was unlike their first; it was firm before it melted. Their lips parted, and the kiss deepened. His tongue found hers, brushing against it briefly, before moving to explore the rest of her mouth. Neither realized that the others had gotten out of the water and returned to their spot on the beach.

His arms tightened around her waist slightly, and she wrapped her arms around tighter around his neck. She could taste the salt from the sea on his lips, a hint of the coffee he'd had that morning, the sharpness of the spearmint gum he'd been chewing earlier, and wondered if he could taste the same on hers. Almost instantly, they parted, breaking the kiss, gazes locking and chests heaving, though they never broke physical contact. Slowly, he released her, a blush tinting his cheeks. "S... _s'rry_..." He glanced back at her as he left the water, to join the others, the look in his eyes mirroring what she was sure reflected in hers.

_Bu' I've wan'ed t' do tha' f'r two days._


	5. Chapter 5

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: Written: 2007. Found: 2018. ****\- Licia **

The drive back _from_ the beach had been as awkward as the drive _to_ the beach, for both Timothy_ and_ Ziva were keeping quiet now. An occasional glance would be shared between the pair, but for the most part, they ignored each other. After hasty goodbyes- Taryn suggested a shopping trip in the next couple of days to get Ziva out and about and used to being around other people and in the city that was her temporary home for the year- the trio headed back into the house. John looked up from setting the dining room table, and Kathleen stopped fixing the salad. "_'ow_ was _th'_ beach?"

But Timothy ignored his father, darting past them and hurrying up the stairs to his room. The door slammed, leaving his parents sharing glances and Ziva nervously looking at her sandals. Sarah glanced between the stairs and their house guest, trying to put the pieces together and failing. After a moment, Ziva made her way upstairs, heading to her room, leaving the other girl downstairs with her parents.

She stopped in front of Timothy's door, though, because his room was before hers on the opposite side of the hall. A moment passed, before she softly knocked on the door, waiting. Silence met her, and after several minutes, she turned to head to her own room. She shut the door softly behind her, slipping out of her sandals and setting her bag on the bed, before grabbing the towel she'd thought to grab before they left, and turning to leave the room again. As she slipped out of the room and headed for the bathroom, the door to Timothy's room shut softly, and she turned back.

She glanced towards the bathroom, biting her lip, before glancing at his door. On the one hand, a shower would do her good, but on the other, if she didn't talk to him now, she'd probably lose her nerve-

Taking a deep breath, she turned back, going to his door and knocking softly. A couple minutes passed before it opened; he stood in the doorway, having clearly just taken a shower, if the fresh pair of jeans, the towel around his shoulders, and his still dripping hair were any indication. So she'd have to wait if she wanted to take a_ hot_ shower and wash the sea salt from her hair. Her gaze quickly glided down his chest; despite him being nearly a year older than her- if she remembered right, Mrs. McGee had said that Sarah was fifteen, and that Timothy would turn seventeen in September, two months before she did- he was fairly well built, as though he spent his weekends at the gym.

_There was a football and a pair of running shoes by the back door in the kitchen, maybe he runs or plays football, that could be why he is in such good shape. _

She quickly shook the thought away, blushing as her gaze slowly returned to his face. He waited. "_D' ye_ need _somethin'_, Ziva?" He asked, and after a moment, she finally managed to mutter,

"We... can we... talk?"

Seconds passed, before he stepped back, allowing her to slip into the room. The door didn't fully latch; instead, it bounced slightly off the door frame and settled against the strike plate, leaving it open from the outside. Once inside the room, Ziva looked around. His room was similar to hers, only much more personal. There was a poster on the far wall, mainly red, with a man kneeling in silhouette, holding up a flag and a microphone, the words_ U2: Live at Red Rocks: Under a Blood Red_ _Sky_ in bold grey on one side. A bookshelf sat beneath the poster, and she noticed a few other things, before turning her gaze to the desk. There was a computer atop it, with a stack of books and a notebook beside it; a tan leather and dark blue messenger bag was slung over the back of the desk chair. She could see a small patch sewn on the flap in the shape and colors of an Irish flag, with the words, _Tiocfaidh ár lá_, _Éirinn go Brách, _which, if she remembered right from her translation book, meant _Our day will come, Ireland forever_ around it.

"_Le'_ me guess, _ye wanna_ talk _'bout th'_ kiss."

She turned her gaze from his messenger bag, to find him towel drying his hair. He watched her, and she blushed, nodding. A soft sigh escaped his throat as her gaze locked on his eyes. _They're so bright, even from this distance, they look like fresh cut emeralds._

"Look, Ziva," She was pulled from her thoughts by his voice, as he lifted his head after having completely dried his hair. He sighed, meeting her gaze. "I... _I'ma_ sorry I _kiss'd ye_. I... _dinna_ mean _t'_ make_ ye uncomf'rtable_. I _jus_'... I _don'_ know why I did _i'_, I_ jus'_..." A soft sigh escaped his vocal chords, as he watched her. She played with her hair, twisting it around her fingers nervously in a way that was both adorable _and_ maddeningly sexy all at once. He licked his lips, lowering his gaze. "I guess I _jus'... go' caugh'_ in _th' momen'. 'twon' 'appen 'gain. I promise._"

"Oh." Her face fell, and she yanked her fingers from the salty curls. "Wait... what?" She'd heard him, but his words hadn't fully penetrated until then. He didn't look at her, and slowly, she stepped forward. "Did you... _not_ want to kiss me?" Slowly, he met her gaze again, and she swallowed. She couldn't read the emotions reflected in his eyes, there were too many. A moment passed, before she moved closer, reaching out and gently sliding her hands along the slightly damp skin of his stomach around to rest against his hips.

"I... I _wan'ed t',_ Ziva, I _jus'_... I _'ighly doubt ye wan'ed t' be kiss'd-_"

She looked up at him, shaking her head slightly, rising onto her toes, gaze locked briefly on his lips. "I very much wanted to be kissed, Tim. It is why I kissed you back." And without another word, she closed the gap between them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: Written: 2007. Found: 2018. ****\- Licia **

"Timmy? Are _ye_-"

The pair broke apart, turning to see Sarah standing in the doorway to her brother's room, barefoot with a robe on. He immediately stepped away from Ziva, who glanced between the siblings. Sarah's green gaze trained on the exchange student, a look flashing over her face that Ziva couldn't read, but that Timothy recognized instantly. "Sarah-"

"Can I talk_ t' me broth'r,_ Ziva? _Alone?_"

The girl glanced once more between the siblings, before slipping out of the room. Sarah stepped inside, shutting the door softly behind her. "_Wha'_ were_ ye thinkin'_ Timmy? _Kissin' th'_-"

"New exchange _stud'nt? Ye_ think I _don' realize wha' jus' 'appened_, Sarah?" He replied, tossing the towel into the hamper and tugging a shirt from his closet. He quickly pulled it on, meeting her gaze.

"_Ye kiss'd 'er_, Timmy!"

"_F'r th' r'cord_, she _kiss'd_ me, Sarah."

The younger McGee sibling pursed her lips. "Well_ 'ow d' ye_ plan_ t'_ tell_ Mams an' Da? 'twon't_ be _'appy,_ Timmy."

He sighed. "I know. I_ jus'... 'twas_ a mistake. Okay?"

Silence fell between the siblings, and after several minutes, Sarah made her way to the door. "_Jus'_... be careful, Timmy." And then without another word, she slipped out of the room, passing by Ziva on her way to the bathroom. The door shut behind her, and the Israeli soon heard the shower start. When she turned back, she found Timothy shutting his bedroom door softly behind him and heading for the landing of the stairs.

"Tim-" But he ignored her, taking the stairs two at a time. With a sigh, she returned to her room, shutting the door softly behind her. She tossed her towel onto the bed before plopping onto it with a whimper. If she was confused by the kiss at the beach, she was just as equally confused by the kiss in his room.

Downstairs, Kathleen looked up from fixing a cup of tea as her son entered the kitchen. He went to the fridge, pulling it open and grabbing a carton of orange juice and a glass, before pouring some and putting the carton back in the fridge. She watched the boy take a sip of the citrus drink, noticing how his gaze seemed to fixate on the counter top. _"Ev'rythin' okay, mo grá?"_

Her own green eyes stared back at her as the boy moved his gaze up to meet his mother's at the common term of endearment, though he never broke contact with his glass. After a moment, she squeezed the last of the tea from the tea bag and set it on the edge of the saucer with the spoon, lifting the cup to her lips. _"D' no' look a' me in tha' tone o' voice, Timothy Michael McGee."_ She sipped her tea quietly, watching her son. She knew how her son worked, because she worked the same way. It was times like this that Kathleen O'Shea McGee wished her son had inherited more of his father's outgoing-ness, instead of her more stoic personality.

After a moment, the boy lowered the glass, setting it on the counter and breaking eye contact. He proceeded to spin the glass in place, watching as the juice crashed against the container in small waves. Without a word, she set her cup down, running a finger along the rim, waiting for her son to open up. He took a deep breath. _"Di' ye ev'r d' somethin' ye regrett'd, Mams?"_

Kathleen's head snapped up, eyes wide. Her heart stalled, as a thousand scenarios filled her head. "Such as?" She asked, trying to remain calm.

The boy bit his lip, before meeting her gaze. "I... I _kiss'd_ Ziva... _a' th'_ beach_ t'day._.."

His mother instantly, visibly, relaxed, heaving a sigh of relief. _"Oh, thank Sain' Brig'd-" _

_"Wha' di' ye think_ I was_ talkin' 'bout?"_ His brow furrowed in confusion, a look crossing his face that his mother knew all too well. She chuckled softly, shaking her head at him.

_"Ye kiss'd our 'xchange stud'nt?" _

The boy nodded, suddenly very unnerved by his mother's response; the wiry smile she wore was starting to scare him, as was her throaty chuckle, and he had half a mind to call his father in from the living room, where the patriarch of the family was deep in conversation on the phone with his older sister, Lorraine, who had fled to the States back in seventy-six, during the height of the Troubles in the North.

Lorraine was not the only one of the McGee clan to escape the north of Ireland during the nearly forty years of violence; over the years, multiple McGee and O'Shea relatives had fled the North for the safety of America, leaving behind friends and family. Kathleen's older brother, Nicholas, and his wife Aideen, had fled in eighty, not long after their older brother Jacob, had been taken from his bed by IRA members and gunned down in front of his wife and children for supposedly having attempted to stop the 'Irish cause' by helping the British.

The family had taken his murder hard. It had fractured the O'Shea family deeply, sending Penelope's remaining seven children- her four daughters and three remaining sons- scattering to the winds. Three had fled the Emerald Isle for the supposedly 'safer' shores of America, one had escaped to the South, two had hoped the pond, not for America, but for Europe, settling in Switzerland, seeking asylum... and Kathleen, Penelope's youngest... well, she had chosen to stay in the North. It had been a difficult decision for her- to stay or go- but in the end, she had done what she thought was right.

She'd been pregnant with Timothy at the time, which had been a major part of why she'd chosen to stay; he'd been born two months after her brother and his wife had fled for America. Kathleen had begged them not to go, despite knowing it was useless. Just as they'd begged her and John to flee, even though they knew it wouldn't be possible; not with his sister so close to giving birth. Nearly seventeen years later, Kathleen didn't regret her decision; she and John had tried their hardest to shield their children from the violence, making sure they had as normal a life as humanly possible. But even with all their efforts, the kids were still forced to grow up fast; it was a situation similar to Ziva's, seeing as the girl had grown up watching Palestinian airstrikes and Israeli retaliations.

"Um... _Mams? Ye're scarin'_ me."

She took a deep breath, meeting her son's gaze. "Oh, Timmy, _mo grá_." She furrowed a brow. "_Ye_ were... _jokin'_-" He shook his head. _"Oh_."

_"Wh' 'twas jokin'?"_ They both turned as John hung up the phone, his call with Lorraine having ended. The older McGee male studied his wife and son, confusion in his gaze. "Katlee? Timothy?" John caught the glance mother and son shared, and it unnerved him. Neither spoke; the voice who did break the silence came from the bottom of the stairs, and the other three turned to see Sarah, once more in her bathrobe, hair damp from her shower.

"Timmy_ kiss'd_ Ziva,_ Da._ I _wen' t'_ ask if _'e_ needed _th'_ bathroom, _an' 'e_ was_ standin'_ in_ th'_ middle_ o' 'is_ room,_ kissin' 'er_."

Stunned silence followed Sarah's admission; none of them noticed Ziva, hiding in the shadows of the top floor landing, listening.


	7. Chapter 7

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: Written: 2007. Found: 2018. ****\- Licia **

_"Come on,_

_Come along, Get it on _

_Riding in our roller coaster of love"_

_\- Roller coaster, _

_B*Witched,_

_B*Witched Album, 1998_

She'd only stayed long enough to hear both Mr. and Mrs. McGee's surprise at this discovery, before slipping back down the hall and into her room. Without a word, she quickly grabbed her toiletries and made for the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and quickly starting the shower. As she began to wash the salt from the sea from her skin, she felt her heart begin to constrict as the thought of Mr. and Mrs. McGee being angry that she'd kissed their son.

_You have only been here a little under three? four? days, and already, you have managed to anger your host parents._

Taking a deep breath, she sniffled; water ran down her cheeks, but she wasn't sure if it was from the shower or from tears. The kisses she'd shared with Timothy- no, Tim; Timothy was way too formal for him- had twisted her emotions in ways she'd never experienced before. It had been so thrilling, to feel his lips on hers at the beach earlier today, that she thought she'd dreamed it.

And then she'd kissed him in his room moments ago, and had known that she _hadn't_ dreamed it. He had kissed her back in his room, no matter how brief, he had still kissed her back. And to think, she had yet to turn sixteen, having never experienced her first kiss- until this afternoon at the beach.

It had scared her; she hadn't known what to expect. But he'd been gentle with her, despite the searching they'd done, and it was almost as though he'd tasted the very depths of her soul with that one kiss. Even now, with her host parents probably angry with her, with Tim and Sarah probably planning to avoid her, if not ask that she be pulled from the exchange program, she wanted that sensation again. She wanted to taste his kiss, even if it was the last thing she did before returning to Israel.

Her stomach erupted in fluttering, as she thought of his mouth on hers, and the way his arms had wrapped around her waist. It had been an innocent kiss between two people, and yet, such innocence had left her horribly confused. In the short span of a few hours, she'd gone through a roller coaster of emotions; emotions she had no idea how to process or who to talk to about. She wanted to trust her host family, but she was half afraid they would be exceedingly strict in regards to their religion, as she'd read that many Irish were.

Eventually, she shut off the shower, and stepped out after grabbing her towel and hurriedly wrapping it around her body. Grabbing her things, she tugged the door open and poked her head out, but the hallway was deserted. She could hear voices downstairs, but couldn't make out who they belonged to. Quickly and quietly, she darted down the hall to her room, slipping inside with a soft click of the door behind her.

Downstairs, John McGee studied his oldest child, trying to decide if... well, any form of punishment was worth it. After several minutes of Kathleen and Timothy talking- more like arguing- back and forth, John whistled; the shrill sound stopped all conversation in its tracks and the rest of the family turned to look at him. "_Don' ye_ think _ye're ov'rreactin'_, Katlee? _Per'aps 'twas jus'_ a kiss. A kiss is... _innoc'nt_." His wife took a deep breath, pursing her lips in annoyance. The former Irish dancing champion hated being talked down to like a child, like her husband was currently doing. And John knew it; he could see the spark in her eyes that signaled that she wasn't happy with him, for he'd been doing this more and more to her, because he could see that she was letting her mania take control. It was common knowledge in the family that Kathleen suffered from Bipolar I, and that her mania episodes often followed major upsets or changes-

_Such as acceptin' a' 'xchange student int' our 'ome._ He sighed. He'd been hesitant about accepting an exchange student, mainly because he worried how Kathleen would handle her Bipolar episodes- especially with the changes an exchange student brought. Ziva seemed like a wonderful girl, albeit a little quiet, but that was mainly because they didn't _know_ her. They only knew what they'd learned from her in the last few days. So far, they'd gotten along fine with her, but John knew that it was only a matter of time before his wife's mania kicked in, and he wasn't sure he wanted to subject the teenage girl to his wife's manic fits, no matter how medicated Kathleen was.

"Katlee, _don'." _

_"Don' wha'?"_ His wife asked, returning her attention to her tea. She added one, two, three, cubes of sugar, stirring them quickly in sets of three, another sign she was getting worked up. John sighed; this episode had been coming on for a while now- she'd been jittery and obsessive-compulsive for a week and a half, a good indicator that an episode was about to hit- and as he watched her stir her tea, he had the disheartening feeling that Ziva's arrival was the catalyst that would send his wife into her Bipolar mania tailspin.

_Plop!_

_Plop! _

_Stir. _

Five cubes down, an entire box to go.

_"Ye know wha'." _

_Six._

_Seven. _

_A dash of cream._

_ Stir._

She looked up, pulling the spoon from her cup and banging it against the edge. "_Really_, John?_ I'ma_ fine."

"_Ye don' soun'_ fine, _Mams._" Sarah replied, chewing on a nail. Timothy watched his mother in silence, before,

"All this_ b'cause_ I _kiss'd_ a girl?"

_"Ye dinna jus'_ kiss a girl, Tim, _ye kiss'd_ our_ 'ouse gues'_." His father replied, turning quickly to catch a glimpse of someone sneaking into the shadows- someone that was clearly Ziva. John sighed. "_'tis no' 'bout tha', no'_ really. _Yer Mams's_ been _buildin' t'ward_ this_ f'r_ weeks._ Ye kissin'_ Ziva _'as jus' giv'n 'er som'thin' f'r 'er_ mania_ t'_ focus on. _'tis no' yer faul', n'r_ Ziva's, it _jus'_ is."


	8. Chapter 8

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: Written: 2007. Found: 2018. - Licia**

There wasn't such a thing as tension in the McGee house; more like an unsettling quiet that filled the air over the next couple of days. With school starting the following Monday, Kathleen and John decided that it was best to make sure all of Ziva's paperwork was in order, and so it was that Thursday that they took the young girl with them.

It was on the ride back that Ziva, looking through the packet she'd been given, finally spoke up. Brow furrowing, she frowned softly. "What is... year thirteen?"

Kathleen glanced at the girl in the rear-view, a small smile tugging on her lips. "_Ye're_ sixteen, _aye_?" Ziva nodded. "I _b'lieve_ in America, they call it... _sophom're_ year." The girl nodded, but didn't question it further. She continued going through the packet. So Tim was a year older than her, making him either in her year, or in the year ahead, but she wasn't sure. "Sarah's in Year twelve, _an'_ Timmy star's Year fourteen this year."

So he was a year older than her. Ziva 'hmmed' softly to herself. In Israel, she'd attended a private school that focused primarily on the Jewish faith, as had her siblings, but here, she would be attending a private all-girl's school that shared the campus with the boy's school. She quickly scanned through the packet.

_All students will be required to wear for the standard uniform..._

Her brow rose. Uniform? She had never worn a uniform at her school-

"So which house _d' ye b'lieve ye'll_ be placed in, Ziva?"

Her head snapped up, and she met Mrs. McGee's gaze in the mirror. "Ah... house?"

John chuckled softly at the look. "The Brendelfare Schools_ 'ave_ a _'ouse_ system_ tha'_ they _though'_ up in _th'_ sixties._ Th' stud'nt_ body's _d'vided int'_ four _'ouses- Immrama, Fenian, Echtrae, an' Ulster- referencin' th_' cycles _an'_ tales _o'_ Irish myth _an'_ folklore. Brendelfare _'twas_ founded by a_ lit'rature profess'r_ from Queens'_ a' th'_ turn_ o' th' cent'ry_. _Th' 'ouses_ are _nam'd_ in_ trib'te o' 'im_."

"Oh." Silence filled the car once more; eventually, they pulled into the driveway, and, headed into the house, just missing the late August shower. It surprised Ziva that one day it could be so nice and sunny and then next, rainy. Tim and Sarah were curled up on the sofa, engrossed in an American movie released in ninety-five that happened to be on. Tim's green gaze darted to the trio as they entered the house, before Sarah snuggled closer, too engrossed in the film to notice.

"I _d'nno tha'_ I'd _wan' t'_ play_ tha'_ game. _Canna ye 'magine bein' trapp'd_ inside_ f'r tw'nty_ years, Timmy?_ Nev'r t'_ see_ Mams_ or_ Da 'gain_, or go_ t'_ school, or-"

"_'tis jus'_ a game, Sarah."

Ziva turned to the television, confused. An image of a bushy-haired Robin Williams running through the lower floor of his house flashed on screen. She vaguely remembered seeing a poster for the movie a couple years ago at the movie theater in Tel Aviv, but had never seen it. Neither sibling looked up, but Sarah shifted until she was lying on the sofa with her head in her brother's lap. Absentmindedly, Tim stroked his fingers through her red hair, and after a moment, Kathleen picked up the remote, turning the TV off. Both siblings turned to her then. "_Di' ye no' 'ear_ me? Go_ ge' wash'd f'r supp'r._"

Without a word, the teens stood, hurrying from the room. Sarah, however, stopped, turning back to Ziva. "This came _t'day_." She held out a package, and Kathleen smiled softly, taking it. Once Sarah was gone, Kathleen turned to the Israeli.

"_Yer_ uniform_ f'r_ school."

After glancing at it, Ziva took the package, thanking her softly.

Once everything had been put away, Ziva slipped downstairs, to find Tim and Sarah setting the table, and John helping his wife put the finishing touches on the meal. Kathleen smiled softly at her as the girl slowly took a seat. Supper had been an interesting affair the last few days; she'd watched in awkward silence as the McGees said Grace, each crossing themselves before partaking in the meal. Ziva, meanwhile, never said Grace, for she was of a different faith than the McGees. They respected her religion; didn't pressure her into partaking in a faith she did not believe in. The conversation had been light and airy the last few days, but now, as she glanced at each in turn, something tugged at her brain. "What is... Brendelfare like?"

Tim and Sarah shared a glance, confused by her question. "_Wha' d' ye_ mean?" He asked, and she shrugged. The school she'd attended in Tel Aviv had been co-ed-

"Does it not... mix sexes?"

The siblings turned to each other, before they both burst out laughing. Ziva blushed furiously, not understanding what was so funny. She detested being the brunt of people's jokes. "_'as_ always been _sep'rate_, Brendelfare." Tim replied. "_Th'_ girls' school _'tis_ on_ th' eas'_ side _o'_ campus, _an' th'_ boys' on_ th' wes'_. They share a _caf'teria, gymnas'um, an'_ a few _oth'r_ things, _bu' th'_ main _ac'demic buildin's_ are_ sep'rate_."

Her brow furrowed. "Why?"

Now the entire family shared glances.

"_B'cause_ they always_ 'ave_ been."

After supper, Ziva hurried upstairs. She wasn't necessarily eager to try on her new school uniform, but she was curious. In Tel Aviv, the students had been allowed to wear what they wished, within reason, despite it being a private school. There had been no uniforms at her school.

Quickly, she removed the clothing from the package, laying them across her bed. Her dark gaze scanned over each before she picked up the inventory list. Just as she was about to read through it, a soft knock sounded, and she turned as Kathleen poked her head in. "Ziva? _Ye gettin' 'quainted wit' th'_ dress code_ b'fore_ school on Monday?"

She nodded, glancing back at the clothing, a knot in her stomach.


	9. Chapter 9

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: Written: 2007. Found: 2018.- Licia**

_"Don't wear that shirt 'cause you know it drives me insane_  
_I go for colors and you go for plain maybe_  
_Mirror, mirror just tell him what you see_  
_He got an ego, can't you make it disappear?_

_If it don't fit, don't wear it_  
_Oh, you gotta be comfortable_  
_And I swear, hold steady_  
_Don't you think your bigger than me_

_If it don't fit, don't wear it_  
_Oh you know you're replaceable"_

_\- If It Don't Fit,_

_ B*Witched,_

_Awake and Breathe album, 1999_

She tugged on the sleeves of the white blouse, frowning softly at her reflection in the mirror. After a moment, her gaze returned to the inventory list on her desk, and she reached for it. Unlike the typical plaid uniforms she thought of when she thought of schoolgirls, the Brendelfare girls' uniforms consisted of-

_Two plain black pencil skirts_

_Three dark red plaid pleated skirts_

_Two dark green pleated skirts_

_Six long-sleeved white blouses_

_Four short-sleeved polos_

_One formal black pleated skirt_

_Five jackets- dark green, red, black, navy blue and white_

_Six ties- two black, one dark green, red, navy blue, and black plaid_

_Four jumper dresses- black, white, navy blue and dark green_

_Three jumpers- black, white and dark green_

_One pair of black slacks_

"Who needs all this for one school year?" She sighed, setting the list down again and turning back to the mirror. After a moment, she grabbed her hairbrush and attempted to tame her wild curls, eventually giving up and grabbing a scrunchie and pulling it over her wrist. She'd deal with her hair later. Casting one last look in the mirror by the closet, she grabbed her dark green plaid backpack- a gift from Mr. and Mrs. McGee for her first day- and slung it over her shoulder. The black Mary Jane type shoes she wore had a slight heel, and she wore a pair of black tights. With one last sigh, she left the room, headed down to the kitchen for breakfast.

Kathleen looked up from pouring coffee as Ziva came into the room. "Well, _don' ye_ look nice, Ziva. I see _ev'rythin'_ fits."

The girl blushed, taking a seat at the table. Sarah looked up from her toast, wrinkling her nose as her brother entered the room, tugging on his own jacket, this one in dark green. Like hers, there was a gold patch of a crest sewn onto the left breast pocket. He set his bag in the chair beside her and adjusted the collar of his jacket; Ziva took the opportunity to study it closer. She furrowed a brow as she realized there were a few other patches sewn onto the bag as well- a simple green four leaf clover, a strange little circular pin with a green background, gold trimming, the words _Irish National Volunteers_ around the trim, and a harp in the middle, and a black and gold Vice Admiral insignia.

_"'twas Granda's_ _'signia_." She turned to him. He watched her, and she furrowed a brow, opening her mouth to speak. "_Th' 'signia_." She nodded, and before he could say more, a car horn honked outside. "_Tha's_ Aiden _an'_ Taryn." He grabbed a piece of toast, popping the corner into his mouth as he pulled the bag over his shoulder so it fell across his body. Removing it and swallowing his bite, he grabbed the duffel he'd set on the floor and went to Kathleen, pressing a kiss to her cheek. _"I'ma_ go, _Mams_. Coach Riordan_ wan'ed t' mee' wit'_ _th' foo'ball team 'bout th' seas'n b'fore_ school _star's._"

He rushed out of the house just as Kathleen finally got out, "Now _wai'._.. Timothy, take _th'_ girls-"

Ziva got up, going to the window in the living room; she watched as Taryn climbed out of the car and threw her arms around his neck with a squeal, her bob now in loose curls and held back with a black headband. She kissed him on the cheek, and Ziva felt her heart sink, though she couldn't pinpoint why.

Eventually, the girls left the house, headed for the four-block walk to the school. Other students joined them, casting glances at the strange girl with the dark hair and tanned skin. Ziva ducked her head, sticking close to Sarah. After what seemed like hours, she finally spoke up. "Sarah?" The younger girl tugged off her headphones, turning to her. "Who is Coach... Riordan?"

Sarah furrowed a brow, before understanding. _"'e's th' foo'ball_ coach. Timmy's _th' fullbac'_ on _th'_ team. _'e's 'opin' he'll ge' t'_ play _f'r th'_ main Gaelic team _af'er_ college."

"Oh."

They lapsed into silence again; Sarah put her headphones back on. When Ziva next looked up, it was to find the campus of Brendelfare spread out before her. On either side of the campus, sat two huge, old brick buildings that must have been the academic buildings. Heavy wrought- iron gates stood open, welcoming the students, both new and returning. As they moved down the walkway, Sarah nodded towards the quad; a group of male students were kicking around a football. It took a few moments, but finally, Ziva got over the massive size of the campus enough to focus on the boys on the quad. Instantly, she recognized Tim. So engrossed in watching him, she didn't notice as he nudged a another boy with his shoulder, managing to get the ball away, only to have it be kicked-

_"Ziva!"_

When she looked up next, it was to find not only Sarah, who had her headphones down around her neck, but Tim, several of the other students, and an older man in his late twenties gathered around her. Tim held out a hand, which she took after a moment. "Are _ye_ okay, Ziva?"

She turned to Tim and blinked, wincing. _"Ow."_

Gently, the coach lifted her chin to study her. "_Ye'll 'ave a nas'y shin'r, lass._" He released her, turning to the boy. "Take_ 'er t' th'_ nurse, Tim."

As the pair headed towards the nurse's office, he took her hand so she wouldn't get lost. She glanced down at their joined hands, trying to identify the fluttering that erupted in her stomach. After a moment, she looked up. "Hmm? Sorry, what did you say, Tim?"

He rolled his eyes. "I _sai' tha' I tried t' warn ye, bu' ye weren' lis'enin'. As usual._"

She stopped outside the nurse's office, turning to him, brow furrowing, despite the pain. "What do you mean, 'as usual', Tim?"

He met her gaze, sighing. "_Jus' tha' ye've _been_ 'norin' me f'r th' las' three days. I figur'd if tha's th'_ way _ye're_ gonna be, then fine. I give up. I can take a_ hin'._"

He moved to enter the office, but she tugged on his hand, causing him to turn back. "Give up... what? What... hint?"

A sigh escaped his throat. "Ziva, _I'va_ been_ tryin' t'_ ask _ye ou' f'r th' las' three days. Bu'_ I_ ge'_ it, _ye're_ in a new place, _an' ye're no' int'rest'd. Tha's_ fine."

"Wait... you are asking me out?" Her heart, at the thought of a date- any date, really- swelled in her chest-

He sighed in annoyance. "_No. Ev'ry_ time I s_ai' som'thin', ye ign'red_ me. Or _act'd_ like _ye dinna 'ear_ me. So _yes'erday af'er l_unch, Taryn came _ov'r t'_ play Gaelic _wit'_ me, I _ask'd 'er ou' f'r_ coffee. We're _goin' af'er_ school_ t'day_, so ye'll be _goin' 'ome wit'_ Sarah." And without another word, he slipped into the nurse's office, breaking their contact. She watched him go.

\- and promptly burst.


End file.
